Complainte de la Butte
by Angelina FILTH
Summary: Schu takes Brad to a night club.. Inspired by that one Moulin Rouge song. Please R+R.


Bradley Crawford, Schuldig (c) Weiss Kreuz creators.  
"Complainte de la Butte" (c) Rufus Wainwright?  
  
"Oh, come on, Bradley-chan!"  
  
The redhead had his hands on his hips, and head canted. He stood across from Crawford, who currently was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper.  
  
"No."  
  
"Why nooot?" the German whined, leaning forward slightly. "It'll be fun!" And a grin illuminated his face.  
  
"..No."  
  
"Grr," and it was quickly burnt out by a frown, and a roll of the eyes. "That's right, you dunno how to do that."  
  
"Oh be quiet, Schuldig." He rolled his own eyes.  
  
"What?! It's true! All you do is..work, work, work! It's rather irritating.." he trailed off, glancing to the side. Lips formed a slight pout. He was obviously displeased about how Braddy-dear kept refusing, but that didn't mean he'd give up easily.  
  
"Someone has to work around here."  
  
"What about the others?" and he glanced back over to the newspaper-reading Oracle. "They can do stuff too, ya know." A brow arched.  
  
"Just..go away, okay?" The paper was tilted down, and Crawford looked up, and over to the procrastinating telepath. "I've told you a million times already, I don't want to go to a night club."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Shut up," was simply stated, and he glanced back to the newspaper.  
  
There was a bit of silence. Schuldig thought..and finally:  
  
"Jes--"  
  
"Hush. Farfarello might be around."  
  
"Oh fuck you! Just..come on! Once..? Please?" His face took on a seldomly used expression, one of pleady-ness.  
  
And the German was then put on ignore.  
  
Another bout of silence, and then he let out a sigh.  
  
"You owe me, you know.."  
  
"..For?"  
  
"Just..because.."  
  
"That isn't a good enough answer."  
  
"... You owe me simply because you're..you're you!" He furrowed fiery brows, tilted forward and placed his hands on the table, glaring over at Bradley.  
  
"Is that so..?"  
  
"Ja. Now, you're coming with me or I'm gonna drag you there."  
  
"Why so persistent?" A brow was arched, but he did not look up at Schuldig.  
  
"Because..you need to have some fun!"  
  
"Fun..?"  
  
"Ja, fun! You need a break."  
  
"Suddenly, you're so considerate of others."  
  
"Shut up. Just come on.."  
  
"You shut up. And just go away."  
  
"... I'm not gonna stop buggin' you until you come."  
  
A third period of silence, and then Crawford took this time to let out a sigh. He set his paper down and looked over at Schuldig, face stoic.  
  
"Fine. But don't think you can let yourself go just because I'm there. If you get drunk, you deal with yourself."  
  
..And upon hearing those words, though they were harsh, Schu smiled walked around the table and gave Braddy a momentary hug around the neck. "Danke! I promise, this is gonna be like nothin' you've ever done before!"  
  
"Just go get ready.."  
  
"You too!" He grabbed the American's arm and tugged him up.  
  
He glared, and squirmed his arm away. "I can stand up fine myself. Now you go and get ready."  
  
"Okay.." and with that, Schuldig stalked off to his room.  
  
Brad paused, looking down. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and shook his head. He thought, "What am I getting myself into..?"  
  
"A good time," Schuldig answered, grinning as he over heard that thought. Already, he was looking through his closet for something to wear. Something special..  
  
For Bradley, getting ready to go out wasn't hard at all. He'd tons and tons of clothes--most of them being over $100 each. Tonight, he wouldn't wear a suit, no. He figured that'd be too hot inside the club.. Instead he just wore a black button-up shirt, dress pants and shoes to match. Good enough, right? If only his precognition gave him a glimpse of what his German was going to wear..  
  
He stepped out of his room, and headed over to Schuldig's. He waited a good fifteen minutes, grew impatient, and knocked on the door harshly.  
  
"If you want me to come, you'd better hurry up! I'm not going to stand here an hour."  
  
"I'm almost done Bradley! Waiddaminute.."  
  
He sighed, and waited another ten minutes. He pressed his forehead to the door, closed his eyes and yelled in again, "Will you get out here already? You're just like a damned wo--"  
  
And the door was opened.  
  
Bradley..blinked.  
  
"..Woman?" The telepath looked amused..leaned up and kissed Bradley on the lips, and then tilted back, eyeing him with an eternal smirk.  
  
He was dressed in..dressed in, well, drag. A nice short black skirt, black spaghetti-strapped tube top and fishnetted thighs and arms. Knee-high boots..dark eye shadow and lipstick. Schu could..really pass for a female..  
  
Bradley rather liked that look..  
  
"We match."  
  
"..Eh?" Brad snapped out of it, shaking his head.  
  
This made the redhead chuckle. He shook his head and then tapped himself on the chest and then Bradley. "Schwarz und Schwarz."  
  
"Yeah.." He was still in shock.  
  
"So, let's go!" He kept grinning, and slipped past Brad, sauntering down the hall and outside.. Brad followed, and almost forgot the keys to the car..but as soon as he passed them, he stopped, stepped back and picked them up, and continued on.  
  
"What a night this is going to be.."  
  
"You betcha!"   
  
When Brad got outside, Schuldig was leaned up against the car, arms crossed over his chest, and feet crossed. He grinned, looking over to him.  
  
He paused, eyeing the German..and then stepped around to the other side of the car, unlocked the doors and got in, and Schu did too.  
  
The ride on the way there was silent, but Schu had some sort of dreamy smile plastered over his face, and Crawford couldn't help but glance over momentarily and admire it..which horribly amused the other.  
  
When they got to the club, it was jam-packed. Didn't make much a difference to the telepath, but the clairvoyant one found the amount of idiots here irritating. Nonetheless, he found a spot after looking for about thirty minutes, got out of the car with Schu and walked towards their destination, the club.  
  
Once they got inside, it was as if a whole new world. Flashing lights, playing music, gyrating bodies. Schuldig fit right in here, and quickly went off to the dance floor, dragging Bradley of course, and melted in.  
  
For about an hour they danced (well, Schu. The other just kind of stood there looking irritated..) and suddenly the sounds of loud and dancable music were interrupted by the calming melody of a piano. A slow song..  
  
La lune trop blême  
Pose un diadème  
Sur tes cheveux roux  
  
"Ew," Schu muttered, and began to head off to sit down.  
  
Brad watched him, then stopped him. "Where are you going?"  
  
La lune trop rousse  
De gloire éclabousse  
Ton jupon plein de trous  
  
"Slow songs suck..I'm gonna sit down."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
La lune trop pâle  
Caresse l'opale  
De tes yeux blasés  
Princesse de la rue  
Soit la bienvenue  
Dans mon coeur blessé  
  
"Ja," and he turned, only to be stopped again. "Hey, lemme go! What do y--wha.."  
  
And Schuldig suddenly found himself enveloped in Bradley's arms, close and up against his chest. He smiled at his German, and leaned in and kissed him.  
  
The stairways up to la butte  
Can make the wretched sigh  
While windmill wings of the moulin  
Shelter you and I..  
  
Crawford leaned back, and looked into Schuldig's eyes..  
  
"Is this where the fun actually starts?"  
  
"Apparently.." and the grin was returned. He set his head upon his chest, closing his eyes.  
  
Petite mandigotte  
Je sens ta menotte  
Qui cherche ma main  
  
A contented sigh was given from him as well, and slowly, the American swayed himself and Schuldig to the music of the French love song.  
  
Je sens ta poitrine  
Et ta taille fine  
J'oublie mon chagrin  
Je sens sur tes lèvres  
Une odeur de fièvre  
De gosse mal nourrie  
Et sous ta caresse  
Je sens une ivresse  
Qui m'anéantit  
  
And they danced, just there, just like that. All the way through the song.. Who would think two hearltess killers could enjoy moments like this? They did, because it was them. It was simply ment to be like that..and no other way.  
  
The stairways up to la butte  
Can make the wretched sigh  
Whil the wings of the moulin  
Shelter you and I..  
  
Mais voilà qu'il flotte  
La lune se crotte  
La princesse aussi  
La na na, na na, na na na, na na  
Mon rêve évanoui  
  
Les escaliers de la butte  
Sont durs aux miséreux  
Les ailes des moulins  
Protègent les amoureux  
  
-fin.  
  
Translation to "Complainte de la Butte"  
  
Above the Rue St. Vincent,  
A poet and an unknown  
Love each other for an instant.  
But he has never seen her.  
  
This song he writes,  
In hopes that his unknown  
Will hear it one spring morning,  
Somewhere in the corner of a street.  
  
The moon too pale (or livid, sallow, wane, or ghastly),  
Rests a diadem  
On your red hair.  
The moon too red,  
Splashes glory  
On your skirt full of holes.  
The moon too pale,  
Caresses the opal  
Of your jaded eyes.  
Princess of the street  
Be welcomed into  
My broken heart.  
  
The stairways up to the hill can make the wretched sigh,  
While windmill wings of the mill shelter you and I..  
  
Little mandigote (don't know translation)  
I feel your little hand,  
That's looking for mine.  
I feel your chest,  
And your fragile height,  
And I forget my pain.  
I feel on your lips  
A feverish smell (a smell of fever, literally)  
Of an undernourished child.  
And under your caress,  
I feel a passion  
That humbles me.  
  
The stairways up to the hill can make the wretched sigh,  
While windmill wings of the mill shelter you and I..  
  
But there it hesitates,  
The moon trots (away),  
The princess too.  
Under the moonless sky I cry to the twilight.  
  
My faded dream.  
  
The stairways up to the hill can make the wretched sigh,  
While windmill wings of the mill shelter you and I..  
  
(chorus can also be translated "the stairways up to the goal are hard for the miserable,   
The wings of the windmills protect the lovers") 


End file.
